Unique and Different
by MorbidbyDefault
Summary: 'And after the incident at Baskerville, any and all doubt had been removed. There was something unique and different about Molly Hooper.' AU! Version of the original series!
1. Chapter 1

Had this idea while watching _A Scandal in Belgravia_, right after I watched _Interview with a Vampire._ Lol...trust me...it will make sense when you start reading. Anyway, here we go.

**I do not own BBC, Sherlock Holmes, Molly Hooper, Mark Gatiss, Steven Moffat, Loo Brealey, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and saddest of all...Benedict Cumberbatch. ***goes to the corner to sob*

Enjoy!

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The very last bit of air left his lungs, his life snapping from the thin cord that had kept it together. She held the scissors, so to speak. She sunk her sharp fangs into his carotid artery, and began drinking from his still warm blood. He was older, had been ill for some time, so the death wasn't unexpected. She was always so careful about who she chose. It was vitally important, for herself, but also for the victims involved. As she felt his blood begin to cool, she stopped drinking. Cool blood was like drinking luke warm coffee, it was disgusting. With careful precision, she retracted her teeth from his neck, and swiped her tongue over the puncture marks, instantly healing it. That was the other important thing, making sure to hide the wounds.

She was filling out the paperwork for his death when _he_ strolled in. She had always had a difficult time when around him. He looked more like a vampire than she did, and he was human. His ghostly pale skin was even paler than hers, which seemed so impossible. His eyes were deep, intense with a hidden power that seemed stronger than her own. Those high ridging cheekbones underneath his skin, he was all sharp angles, and it was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. However, the thing that perplexed her most was his scent. He was all of her favorite things, rolled up into one. A combination of cedar, tobacco ash, and her long lost love, coffee, and some sort of chemical she couldn't quite place. He peered over the man on the slab as she approached him.

"How fresh?" Oh that voice, how could she possibly have forgotten that voice?

"Just in. 67, natural causes. He used to work here. I knew him, he was nice." Molly responded, smiling her best as she tried to shove down a bit of guilt. He had been nice. It was sad he was so ill, and she really had wished that he would have either been a complete dick in life, or that he would have died with family near. However, he had tasted nice, and she was glad she could be there for his last moment. 'He wasn't truly alone then, in the end.'

"Right. We'll start with the riding crop." He stated, giving her a smug grin. She retreated to her office, watching with fascination through the window as her late meal had been bashed and bruised by the eclectic Sherlock Holmes. She bit down on her lip, one of her fangs accidentally reappearing to pierce it. She flinched, and tasted her own blood begin to spill from it. Molly quickly licked it away, savoring the spiced flavor it gave off. She came back in when he had finished, her curiosity getting the better of her. For some reason, she couldn't seem to keep herself away from him, wondering what it would be like to touch him, to _taste_ him.

"I need to know what bruises form in the next 20 minutes. Text me." Sherlock fired off, his voice calm and flat. Molly couldn't resist. It was one of her comforts, not even being able to drink it anymore, but she could still smell it, so she asked.

"Listen I was wondering...maybe later..." She began, but he interrupted.

"Are you wearing lipstick? You weren't wearing lipstick before." Sherlock gazed at her in curiosity. Molly's eyes widened. 'Shit.' She thought. She could feel the lingering liquid of her blood and saliva on her lips, realizing it must not have wiped away as well as she'd hoped.

"I uh...I refreshed it a bit." Molly came up with the excuse, even if she wasn't confident in it. Sherlock had picked up on that as well, she could see, based on the accusatory look he shot her way. He brushed it off quickly however, and continued.

"Sorry, you were saying?" He asked.

"I was wondering if you'd like to have coffee." She could just smell it now. Beautiful black roast with a bit of sugar, combined with his lovely smell of cedar and smoke.

"Black, two sugars. I'll be upstairs." He nods upward, indicating the lab, before turning away and leaving her there. She sighed out an 'okay', before walking away to retrieve his drink.

'That could not have gone worse.' Molly thought.

OoOo

Molly had been in the game a long time. Well, not a _long_ time, by the standards of her kind. But she had seen far more history than that of a person of her 'age'. She had seen the past 50 years pass, people aging, people dying, people being born, growing to adulthood, and then dying years later. It was part of the reason that around the 40th year, she decided to go back to school (again) and become a pathologist. Far too many ways to depart, and seeing as she couldn't, Molly saw no reason why she couldn't at least understand how other people did.

It was there that she met Sherlock. Her first year out of school, and she was already one of the chief pathologists in the department, and was highly sought after. He had whisked into the morgue, trailing behind, yet not following, the nice Detective Inspector with the silvery hair.

OoOo

"_Oh, hello Molly. Sorry to call you in at such a weird time, but this one's sort of a rush." Greg Lestrade, chief detective at Scotland Yard, had been so sweet to her since she started just the few months prior. He always gave her a winning smile and his undivided attention when she would discuss the cause of death for his different victims. Usually he came alone, or with that rather impish looking fellow, Anderson. However, this was someone entirely new to Molly. She had detected his scent upon his entry into the room, and she could all but taste the blood that ran underneath those perfectly sculpted arms in veins that were too easy to see. She took in a deep breath, trying to contain the sudden urge to taste him. Devour him. _

"_Oh, that's okay. I always lead such weird hours anyway." She replied. She lifted the sheet off the body, revealing the utterly wrecked body of a young man. His cause of death had been blunt force trauma to the chest and head, due to a car collision. She stood back as this new man scanned his eyes over the body, seeming to take in every detail at lightning speed that was only matched by her own. After a moment, he stood upright, turning to Lestrade._

"_He was pushed. Probably some accidental altercation that provoked the attacker to make the move, but he slipped off the curb, and fell in front of an oncoming truck. You're looking for a young man in his twenties, probably friends or colleagues with the deceased. I'd check somewhere around the university scene, judging by the logo on his sweater. Now, if you'll excuse me, I really must go. Apparently there's been some sort of fire at my flat." Sherlock spat out the deduction without a second breath, all before looking down to his phone and once again pocketing it. He looked up at her then, sort of giving her a glance over, and then turned to make his leave. At the door, he rounded the corner one last time._

"_Ah, Miss Hooper, you seem competent enough, I'll require your assistance for certain experiments and cases, don't go anywhere." He pointed a long finger to her, and gave her a sly wink. He was once again out of sight, before she could react. She turned to her older friend, and gave him an odd look. Greg shrugged and let out a long, hard sigh._

"_That's Sherlock Holmes. Yes, he's always like that, I suppose. Just... just make sure he doesn't make a huge mess." He rolled his eyes and shook his head, before nodding a goodbye to her, and following the tall stranger through the door of the morgue. Molly let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, and felt her ice cold blood rushing through her crystallized veins. _

OoOo

She felt hungry, not surprising after having an interaction with Sherlock. She knew she couldn't have blood as _sweet_ as his, but she could at least quench the thirst with a quick option. Molly carefully made her way to the darker corridors of St. Bart's, down to the coolers of stored blood. She always hated when the thirst reached this point, as it meant not only stealing from the hospital, but stealing from a patient who potentially needed it. Molly had learned early on that she had a preference in the type, but she forced herself to choose the most common and best supplied. Today was A positive, which she didn't mind so much. She carefully stuffed two bags into her oversized bag, and swiftly walked out of the room. Soon, Molly found herself on her way home, trying to avoid as much eye contact as possible. It was these moments, the moments when she was hungriest, that she feared her potential. She knew the slightest glare or look could send her into a spiral tantrum, thus killing several in her path. So, head tucked down, and her brown hair flowing freely to hide the scent of human blood, she went home to enjoy what she could of the blood bags in her purse.

As she drank from the sanitary pouches, her eyes flooded with a darker color, having been satisfied enough with the flavor of blood. She wiped the remnants of red from her lips, thinking back to Sherlock's comment earlier that day. With a deep sigh, Molly decided she was in desperate need of a shower and bed. 'Just because I can't sleep, doesn't mean I can't at least enjoy my wonderful sheets.' Molly thought to herself.

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Well, I hope you all like it so far. I'll be posting the other chapters throughout the next week, so look out for those! And leave me a review, please? I love reviews! Pretty please leave reviews? For Me?


	2. Chapter 2

Wow, Thank you all so much for the support on this story. I really hope that I can do it justice throughout the whole thing. It's my first attempt at this type of AU, so I hope it works. Anyway, super awesome thanks to all my reviews that I got, as well as the follows and favorites. Now, who wants more Vampire!Molly?

**I still don't own squat. Sad panda.**

**Enjoy!**

**Chapter Two:**

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One of the odd social conventions she had held to, just for appearances, was going to lunch. Sure, she didn't _actually_ eat anything she ever bought, and it may have seemed like a waste of money, but it put people at ease. Molly was all for the easy minds of her coworkers. 'They'll be less suspicious then.' So, she found herself standing in the line in the hospital cafeteria. She looked down, a bit saddened by the options. She so used to enjoy pasta, and were the pork in its raw state, Molly wouldn't have objected to dining on that. However, smothered in the salt and peppered gravy, it now left little to be desired for her altered palette. She gnawed on her lower lip, weighing the options. Something smelled good, but it was neither of the menu items before her.

"What are you thinking? Pork or the pasta?" came a deep voice behind her. Molly turned quickly, realizing the origin of the delicious odor.

"Oh, it's you." She blurted, before internally berating herself.

"I suppose it's never going to trouble _Egon Ronay_, is it? I'd stick with the pasta. Wouldn't be doing roast pork, not if you're slicing up cadavers." Sherlock replied. Molly let out a soft chuckle, amused at the irony of her situation. She felt the sudden need for small talk, wanting him to stay near.

"What are you having?" She asked, hoping for a pleasant response.

"Don't eat when I'm working, digestion slows me down." He answered stoically. 'Ah, so he's here for work.' she thought, which pleased her immensely.

"So, you're working here tonight?"

"I need to examine some bodies." Sherlock said, getting directly to what he wanted. It frustrated Molly when he was like this, which of course, was usually always.

"Some?" she asked.

"Eddie Van Coon and Brian Lukis." He listed the names off quickly. They sounded familiar to her, and she checked her list of papers needing to be logged away, as well as the list of autopsied she had to perform. They were both listed on that side.

"They're on my list." She answered, wondering what he could need with the two seemingly random strangers. She was about to ask why he needed them, when he asked.

"Could you wheel them out again for me?" Molly nearly melted at that face. His eyes bore into hers, imploring her to grant him access. Molly bit her lip, trying to keep herself strong. 'Don't cave, not this time.'

"Well, their paperwork's already gone through." she said, a bit shakily. Sherlock saw the opportunity to weaken her armor. Sherlock had two styles of manipulation, insults and flattery. Neither were kind, and both ate away at her heart, bit by bit. She was close to cracking under the pressure. She knew it. He knew it. 'Crap.' Molly thought.

"You've changed your hair." He said suddenly, pointing to her plait. Molly knew where this was going, and she hated that she liked it. 'I am a hunter, I shouldn't be so easily pushed over.' her mind told her.

"What?"

"The style. It's usually parted in the middle." Sherlock tilted his head, as if he were actually taking interest. Molly sighed, a bit.

"Yes, well..." She was going to defend her style, when,

"No, it's good. It suits you better this way." Sherlock said, nodding as if he approved. It was a very unexpected reply, as if he were being sincere. Molly mentally could have slapped herself. '_Crap_.'

She forewent lunch, excusing that the case seemed fairly urgent. It took an enormous amount of strength on her part to walk calmly down the hall next to that man. He was regal, almost elegant in his stance beside her. His exotic appearance was enough to make her want him. But his scent, _oh his scent_, that made her ache for him. As they reached the morgue, another man joined them. Molly wheeled out the two bodies, trying to be subtle with her powerful strength as she hoisted the corpses from the cart to the tables. She pulled the zipper on the first bag, when Sherlock's words stopped her.

"We're just interested in the feet." Molly found that truly odd.

"The feet?" She asked incredulously. Sherlock smiled at her, a mixture of sweetness and smug arrogance wiping on his features.

"Yes. Do you mind if we have a look at them?" Molly caught a whiff of him as she turned. She tried to hide her fangs with a nervous smile as they drew themselves out automatically. The urge was strong when she spent so much time near him, and Molly had to use every ounce of self control to not simply use her strength and take him. She tucked her head down as she neared him, and focused her attention to the zipper. She pulled down the bag, revealing Lukis's heels. She turned and went to the next table upon Sherlock's request, or rather, command. She quietly slipped away as Sherlock spoke to the detective he was with.

It had taken her the rest of the day, and one fairly old man's blood later, before her instinct to go after Sherlock subsided. It was after this incident that Molly decided she needed to find something to distract her from the temptation that she had toward the consulting detective.

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Well, there you go. Another chapter done. Hope you enjoyed it. Leave a review, if you please?


	3. Chapter 3

So, huge shout out to the wonderful people who are reading this story. I wasn't sure how this was going to be received, but you've all been so kind about it, and seem excited for more. So...without further ado, I give you Chapter 3!

**((oh yea, I still don't own any of it. Sadly.))**

**ENJOY!**

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She met him through work. The lab's computer system needed an upgrade, so molly had been forced to call the techs on the administrative floor. Fifteen minutes later, the room filled with the second sweetest aroma she had ever inhaled. He wasn't as mouthwatering as Sherlock, but he held a similar, slightly muskier scent, as if he held a darker quality. She turned to identify the source, coming face to face with a sweet, nervous looking smile.

"Hi, Dan said you needed some hardware updated. I'm here to help." He said, his voice lilting in an Irish sort of bounce. Molly smiled in return.

"Yes, thank you. Um, computer's just over there. I've got some paperwork I need to do, so I'll just leave you to it." Molly turned after she pointed him in the direction of the machine. Her mind suddenly jolted to alertness as she smelled him again. 'He'd be a perfect distraction.' She turned again.

"I'm Molly, by the way...if you need anything." She smiled at the young man. He looked up at her from his position by the computer and smiled back.

"Molly, that's a lovely name. I'm Jim." He extended a hand for her to shake. She let out a nervous and excited giggle before returning the gesture.

"Nice to meet you, Jim."

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She had finished the toxicology report for a recently deceased bum (one whom had tasted awful), and was a bit bored. She gazed over to the computer desk to see him tucked under the desk, disassembling the computer tower. Molly bit her lip as she secretly admired his back side. Something sparked in her, and she suddenly felt very flirtatious. Molly walked over and seated herself on the stool next to him. She watched as he worked, his breathing coming in short, stressed bursts due to the odd angle he sat at.

"So, is my computer going to live?" Molly asked after a few minutes. Jim jolted upward in a start, his head loudly banging against the underside of the metal work station. Molly gasped and jumped off the stool to help him stand. He held his head as he did, and groaned out a bit painfully.

"Oh my gosh! I am so sorry. Here, let me get you some ice." She ran over to one of the metal freezer cabinets and pulled out an ice pack. When she returned, she fussed over him, moving his hand out of the way. As she held the pack to his head, Molly tried not to inhale his scent. She looked up to find him staring at her, a goofy grin on his face. Molly joined him, and soon the two were laughing.

"I really am sorry." Molly nodded her head emphatically. Jim shook his head slightly.

"No, it's really okay. I'm terribly clumsy." He said with a smile. The silence overtook, and Molly found herself in a very awkward staring contest with Jim. She slowly lowered her arm away from his head, the ice pack still pressed in her hand.

"How's your head?" She shyly asked. Jim's grin only grew, a hint of mischief lining his lips.

"It's better. Though, I think I'm a bit lightheaded." He said, his eyes screwing shut a bit. Molly gave him a concerned look.

"Maybe we should get you something to eat." She suggested earnestly. Suddenly, Jim's demeanor changed. He gave her a wink and his expression returned to normal.

"Sounds good. What do ya' say, 7:00 tomorrow night?" he suavely asked, causing the pathologist to blush. She grinned at him, and nodded her head.

"Okay, but I'm free now too, if you want to do lunch." She said with a bit of flirtation. It seemed to work as Jim held his arm out for her to latch onto.

"To lunch it is, then." He smiled. Molly giggled and smiled as they walked to the cafeteria. 'Yes, a very good distraction, I think.' Molly said to herself.

OoOo

They spent the hour discussing their jobs. Jim used the tech-deficient terms for Molly to understand. She laughed as he tried explaining the difference between a firewall and an anti-virus program.

She, of course, talked mostly about working with Sherlock. After all, being a pathologist didn't allow much in the way of company, so he was the most interesting part of her days. Jim seemed especially keen on hearing about the detective, stating he loved reading about and hearing about the interesting cases. Molly willingly told him about the enigmatic man and his many interesting cases and traits. When their lunch hour was up, Jim had walked Molly back to her lab. He gathered his things and smiled at her from the doorway.

"I had a lovely time at lunch. Call me a romantic, but I think this is definitely going somewhere." Jim's grin only grew at seeing her blush. Molly smiled back at him, forcing her fangs to remain unseen.

"I'll see you later then, yes?" she asked. Jim nodded.

"Okay, thanks again for lunch...an...and for fixing my computer." Molly stuttered frantically over her words in an attempt to prolong their conversation.

"My pleasure, Miss Molly." Jim bowed in an overly-gallant way, making her giggle like a schoolgirl. He waved a final goodbye to her and soon left. Molly spent the remainder of her day feeling happy and just a bit hungry. 'Perhaps I'll go find something on the way home.' She thought to herself.

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Dun dun duunnnnn. Well, what did you think? Good? Bad? Ugly? Should I continue? (well, I would even if you didn't want me to, I hate irresolution.) Leave me a note, okay? Tell me what you think. :D Thanks all my dears, I love you all!


	4. Chapter 4

Major shout out and love and hugs and kisses to all of you lovely readers and reviewers! I am so glad you are receiving this story so well, and I hope it stays that way. I'll just skip the lovey dovey mush and get right to it.

**I own nothing. Not a damn thing.**

**Hello! Are you ready for the story? **

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Now, when normal humans eat too much of a good thing, they tend to gain a bit of weight. The same thing can be said for her kind. Molly was like most women, in that she craved certain types of 'food' during a certain time. Sure, she didn't actually have to endure the mess itself anymore, but the symptoms and side effects of being a woman clung to her biological makeup all the same. So, as she tried her hardest to maintain a civil creed, the huntress in her wanted to devour, to kill, to feed. She felt as if she might snap. And snap, she did.

OoOo

Their date had gone very well. Well, minus the part where she almost slipped up and took him as he kissed down her body.

"Your skin is so cool, so smooth." Jim muttered against her stomach. Molly hummed in answer, trying her very hardest not to let her animal nature spring forth. As the rest of the act carried out, Molly felt herself slipping more and more. Her fangs were out in full display now, and she lightly raked them up his shoulder, nearing his neck. His heavy breaths made it all the more exciting for her. She was close to biting into him, ripping past that smooth, freckled skin. He then surprised her by doing the same thing to her. Sharp daggers cut through her skin as he bit down on her artery. Molly moaned out in equal parts pain and pleasure. When she snapped her eyes open, she was greeted with a devilish grin. While he didn't possess any fangs as she did, she could see the points on his canine teeth where sharp. Sharp enough to pierce _her_ skin. She had never been more impressed, not even with Sherlock's impressive mind. Jim finished, and she soon followed him. Exhaustion won out over her thirst for him, and she soon fell into as close of a state of sleep as _she _could. All the while, she felt the light grazing of his teeth along her neck and shoulder blade.

OoOo

It was a week before she had seen Jim again. Not that she minded. He had been called away on business, and she was busy keeping up with Sherlock's many needs for what seemed like a very intense case. She had just gone to the loo and come back, when she heard the loud buzzer on the computer go off. She briskly walked through the door.

"Any luck?" She asked. Sherlock responded with a very excited 'yes'. Just as she stood next to him to help read the results, the door opened. They all looked up, and Molly was surprised to see her lovely, lilting distraction.

"Jim, Hi!" She said, a bit more excitedly than she had intended. "Come in, come in." She beckoned him closer. She then remembered the other souls in the room, her manners promptly kicking in.

"Jim, this is Sherlock Holmes." She said, gesturing to the man sitting on the stool. He didn't look up. Jim grinned and then looked over to the blond man across the room. A flustered Molly seemed to be drawing a blank on his name.

"And uh...sorry.?" She really did feel bad. She knew his name, really...

"John Watson, hi."

"Hi." Jim said quickly, "So, you're Sherlock Holmes. Molly's told me all about you. Are you on one of your cases?" He approached Sherlock's side slowly.

"Jim works upstairs. That's how we met. Office romance." Molly said with a bit of a smile. Sherlock finally looked up at the couple. He immediately turned away, muttering to himself.

"Gay."

"Sorry, what?" Molly's face fell, having heard him perfectly. 'I could kill him.' she thought. Sherlock seemed to catch the glare and saved face.

"Nothing..um, hey." Sherlock looked over at a seemingly starry eyed Jim. As Molly looked between the two 'distractions' in her life, she saw the way Jim beamed as he watched him work. He moved closer and hit the side of an empty petri dish. It crashed to the floor, causing them all to look up.

"Sorry...s-sorry." Jim stuttered. He picked up the dish, and set it gently on the edge of the work station. He then looked at Molly, giving her a slight smile.

"Well, I'd better be off. I'll see you at the Fox, around six-ish?" Molly looked to him now, she eagerly nodded her head. Jim turned once more to look at the stoic man.

"Bye, it was nice to meet you." She could hear the sigh in his voice. 'Maybe Sherlock _was_ right.' When he didn't respond, John stepped forward.

"You too." He gave the curt answer. Jim said a quiet goodbye to Molly, and left the lab. 'Okay, time to deal with this.' Molly huffed in her mind.

"What do you mean 'gay'? We're together." She insisted, trying to point to the man no longer at her side. It was at this that he finally looked up.

"And domestic bliss must suit you, Molly. You've put on three pounds since I last saw you." his tone was harsh, sardonic. Molly's face fell in anger and guilt.

"Two and a half." She declared. She had been eating a bit _more_ since she had started going out with Jim. He didn't need to make her feel worse about it.

"Mm, three." he started in again, clearly not ready to back down. John tried giving him a warning tone, which Sherlock ignored.

"He's not gay. Why do you have to spoil? - he's not." Molly defended her own honor. Her animal instinct of rage and territorial reflexes were rising by the second. 'You didn't see the scratches down my back.' She wanted to say.

"Please, with _that_ level of personal grooming?" Sherlock retorted. Molly was glad for John trying to come to her aid.

"Because he puts a bit of product in his hair? I put product in my hair!" John said pointedly. Sherlock did not relent, but went forward with his list of deductions.

"You wash your hair, there's a difference." He argued with the army doctor. "No no, tinted eyelashes, clear signs of taurine cream around the frown lines, those tired, clubber's eyes. Then there's his underwear." Molly's scowl only turned half to confusion.

"His underwear?"

"Visible above the waistline, very visible. Very particular brand. That, plus the extremely suggestive fact that he hid his number under this dish, I'd say you better break it off now and save yourself the pain." Sherlock finished, sitting back proudly. 'That's it.' Molly thought. She really _could_ kill him, and he had no clue. She looked up to see a speechless John standing by, saying nothing. Her fangs began to slide out, and Molly knew she had two options, or rather, just the one. She turned and ran from the room, her human nature pushing her to flight mode.

OoOo

As she readied for her date with Jim, she thought on the awkward and less than social interaction earlier that day. The sad, though true, conclusion that she had come to was that Sherlock '_damn him_' was right. When she _really_ though about it, she should have known sooner. She arrived at the Fox exactly at six, and saw him by the bar, speaking with a tall, well-muscled blond man. It was when he leaned over to whisper something in the man's ear that she confirmed it in her mind. 'Nobody smiles like that unless they're flirting, or psychotic.' As she approached them, the unknown male walked away, while Jim turned to look at the crowd. He saw her coming closer, and smiled while giving her a wave. She took a deep breath, and was soon in front of him.

"Hello, Miss Molly."Jim said happily. He leaned in to kiss her, Molly stopped him with a hand on his chest. He looked up at her, confusion laced on his features.

"Jim...he was right, wasn't he?" She asked him point blank. His face grew sad with an unspoken admittance. The sigh that escaped him only added to the evidence. Jim took her hand in his.

"Molly, I'm sorry. I really want to be with you, I'm just...confused." His words sounded so naive to her ears. She nodded a bit and then looked him in the eye.

"Jim, I'm sorry too. I hope you get clarity on this, but...but I need certainty. I'm sorry." She said as she removed her hand from his grasp. With a sad turn, she left the room, vaguely hearing Jim calling after her. 'So much for my distraction.' She thought as she returned home.

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Well, tralalalala. Things could get very interesting from here, now couldn't they? could they? I really have no clue. lol. Anyway, leave me a note, tell me what you think.


	5. Chapter 5

Well, I am just so insanely happy that so many people are liking this. I realize there may be some issues that may or may not be addressed in the upcoming chapters, but I'm hoping that you will just keep reading and ignore the inconsistencies. lol. I'm not sure if I'm very good at this whole supernatural type of writing, but I'm giving it a go...so thank you for reading and amusing me. :D

**By the by, I don't actually own any of the characters or places or things like that. All rights are reserved for Moffat, Gatiss, Sir ACD, Benedict, Loo, and anyone and everyone else involved in the show adaptation of the stories.**

**That is all.**

**Chapter Five:**

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When news had reached her about just _who_ Jim was, she felt horrible. Humiliated. Mostly, she felt like an idiot for now picking up on it in his scent. She forced herself not to think about hunting him down and making him pay. Making him suffer for using her. Instead, Molly focused on her work. The holidays were swiftly approaching, and with it, a steady stream of autopsies. Mostly just deaths by natural cause, but there were terrible accidents and suicides as well. She understood completely, the loneliness was especially unbearable for her at these times too. One difference; they had an out, she didn't. So, having been fully prepared to spend another holiday season alone, it came as a surprise to her when she received an invitation for a party at Baker Street. It was in John's handwriting, and Molly could safely assume that a certain detective would not be pleased to be hosting the event at all. Nevertheless, she was glad she had been remembered.

Finding the dress had been difficult. Years of being how she was had caused her skin to turn a ghostly hue of almost white. Several of the dresses she tried were the right cut, but the color only brought questions as to her skin pigmentation. 'Can't have him noticing. Not now.' So, when she had finally found the little black ensemble, she was pleased. Molly turned about in the brightly lit changing room, watching as the dress seemed to make her pale limbs beautiful, rather than odd to the eye. She pleasantly took it home, and hung it over her bedroom door. She happily readied for the party, taking careful time to ensure she had done her hair nicely, and that her lips were wearing that shade he liked on her. 'Or seemed to like.' Finally, when she had slipped the gown over her head, letting it cascade over her thin frame, Molly slid her shoes on. The final step was wrapping up in her winter shawl and coat. 'It's supposed to be cold for them. Best not chance it.'

She grabbed his present last, setting it carefully on top of the others in the decorative bag. Giving herself a once over, Molly sighed, and left her small flat to head to 221B.

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She was thankful for the sign on the door. Most of the time, she never went anywhere that wasn't public domain. However, it was extremely rude to infer that the hosts of a party would just allow their guests to stroll in. At least, that's how Molly saw it. So, as she walked up to the steps of 221, she saw a quickly scrawled note, sticking underneath the door knocker. She could hear talking and laughter as she ascended the staircase. At the top, she took a deep breath, and walked into the beautifully lit room.

"Hello everyone." She said as she entered. John, Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson all greeted her. "Uh, it said on the door just to, just come up." More pleasantries were exchanged, yet she still managed to hear his annoyed tone above it all. She shed her coat, setting the bag of gifts to the side. As John took her coat and shawl, she could _feel_ their eyes fall on her. She heard John's slip of the tongue, as well as Lestrade's oxygen leaving his lungs.

"So, we're having a Christmas drinkies, then?" She looked downcast as Sherlock made a sarcastic remark, before ignoring her in favor of his, or rather John's, laptop. Mrs. Hudson decided to engage in her conversation at least. Molly was thankful for this. Greg asked if she would like a glass of wine, one of the few things anymore that she could enjoy. She nodded and turned to talk to the sweet older lady once more.

"How's the hip?" Mrs. Hudson had answered her with a bit of a joke, so Molly had countered. However, it was only after she had said the words 'postmortem' that she realized the less than morbid crowd surrounding her. She began to apologize, when Sherlock cut her off.

"Don't make jokes, Molly." She muttered a nervous 'sorry', before her attention was brought round to the Detective Inspector. He handed her the glass of wine, and she thanked him.

"I wasn't expecting to see you. I thought you were going to be in Dorset for Christmas?" She really was surprised to see him, but was happy to have someone else to keep herself distracted with. Holidays had seemed a difficult time for Greg as well, and Molly was only too pleased to keep him company in years past.

"That's first thing in the morning, me and the wife, we're back together. It's all sorted." He smiled excitedly. Molly smiled in return, glad to hear that he was happy. Sherlock spoke then, clearly shooting down poor Greg's hopes.

"And John, I hear you're off to your sister's, is that right?" She had been trying to spare all of them from Sherlock's harshness. She hadn't expected him to turn on her. She shouldn't have been surprised, really.

"Yeah." John answered her.

"Sherlock was complaining. Saying." She caught her slip, knowing he wouldn't appreciate the others knowing about how much emotion he showed when by himself in the lab. John continued.

"First time ever, she's cleaned up her act, she's off the booze." He replied, giving a hopeful toast. Again, Sherlock dashed his dreams, with a quick 'nope'.

"Shut up, Sherlock." John's voice fired out, bringing Molly to attention. She looked up to see Sherlock staring at her, a snide grin on his face. 'Oh no.'

"I see you've got a new boyfriend, Molly, and you're serious about him." The statement threw her for a loop of confusion, considering he was wrong from the very start.

"What? Sorry, what?" She had stuttered out, before he continued on his terrible rant.

"In fact, you're seeing him this very night and giving him a gift." Molly could only stand and attempt to control the creature inside her that was ever whispering, 'come on, put him in his place'. She didn't hear John or Greg trying to come to her rescue, as Sherlock continued, ignoring them both. Instead, her eyes were glued to him as he approached her. His voice callously ripping into her and tearing her apart as he picked up the gift in current scrutiny. She mentally kept her demon at bay as he sliced daggers through her already tattered heart, with his cruel words about her feelings.

"Obviously trying to compensate for the size of her mouth and breasts..." His words had stopped, and Molly could see him finally catching on to the truth behind his deductions. The pity from the others was infiltrating her nose, so heavy she could almost taste it. She bit down the immense urge to bit that flawless neck, show him how _small_ her mouth was. Instead, she opted for a calmer approach.

"You always say such horrible things." Her voice quivered past her lips, the power being withheld leaking out as she spoke. "Every time. Always, always." Molly didn't understand, she really didn't. She had done good, considering her potential for absolute chaos and destruction. She had done right by others, especially him. Yet, she was continuously tormented by him. 'Maybe it's just part of being cursed.' She thought. However, her words in her mind halted as he spoke his aloud.

"I am sorry. Forgive me." Molly watched in utter shock as he leaned toward her, the remorse clearly slapped on his face.

"Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper." His silken voice buzzed in her ear, and she found it hard to resist wanting to take him then. 'So conflicting, why is he so difficult?' His kiss burned her icy skin, and Molly could barely react before a luscious moan sounded from, well, not her.

"Ah, no! That wasn't...I didn't..."

"No, it was me." Sherlock answered automatically. She stared in shock, and the irritated look wiped to his features as he spoke the reason. 'My phone', he had said. From there, things had progressed quickly. Sherlock had gone from standing in front of her, to the fireplace across the room, to walking down the hallway to his bedroom. Molly took a large sip of the wine in her hand, and tasted the bitterness slip down her throat. She had decided it was time to leave.

"Molly, please don't go because of him." John had implored her to stay for another drink and presents.

"I'm sorry, I just...I have to go. Merry Christmas, everyone." She had smiled and waved her goodbyes, before John helped her with her coat. She kissed him on the cheek, and was out the door. As soon as she was outside, she breathed out the nerves that had wracked her body. The snow fell silently above her head. She thought about the many times he had insulted her. All the horrible deductions he'd made about her appearance, or choice in men. The anger and animalistic urge bubbled up inside her. She wanted to take him, no, she wanted to torture him. Bleed him dry. Make him beg for forgiveness, for mercy. Molly waited for a moment and took the opportunity of an abandoned Baker Street to let her withheld emotions out. A swift swing with her left hand, and an innocently by-standing bin landed across the street, dented from her palm and rolling on its side. She sighed, feeling slightly better, and began walking to the main road. What she didn't notice was the pair of oceanic eyes following her movements from the window above.

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She had received the call around 3:00 in the morning, which she had been more than fine with taking. 'At least it's something to do.' She told herself. Molly had changed into a comfy, red sweater and slacks. She had no intention of showing off the scratch marks from the alcoholic who _used_ to live in her alleyway. He'd been a bit more sober than she would have liked, and she'd spent nearly thirty minutes disinfecting the abrasions. Molly stood in the morgue, ready and waiting for him to arrive. She somehow knew it would be him. Another posh man had also entered behind him. Molly could smell the similarities in their hair, could see the same nose on their faces. This man was Mycroft Holmes.

"Had her brought here, your home from home." Mycroft had said. Molly wasn't sure that the morgue was where Sherlock spent the most time. She shrugged it off as he spoke.

"You didn't need to come in, Molly." He eyed her warily, which caused a tingling uneasiness throughout her own body.

"That's okay," she stated a bit happily, "everyone else was busy with...Christmas." She wondered if she looked as pathetic as she sounded. Glancing up at the Holmes men's faces, Molly confirmed her suspicions.

"The face is a bit...sort of bashed up, so it might be a bit difficult." She decided to warn them. She knew Sherlock could handle the grotesque and bloody sight, and she imagined his brother could as well. However, this was simply horrid. Whoever had done this had left the woman with little dignity to spare. Molly had almost wretched at the initial sight. She pulled the sheet back to reveal the battered and disfigured face. She heard Mycroft ask his brother if it was 'her'. He was cut off by the detective's low voice.

"Show me the rest of her." He requested. Molly faltered for a minute, before she obliged. The rest of the body was only injured a bit. Molly couldn't help but wonder who this woman was.

"That's her." He said, before walking away. Her heart sank. 'Oh.' Mycroft thanked her and started to follow his brother.

"Who is she?" She blurted out suddenly. She had to know. "How did Sherlock recognize her from...not her face?" Molly had rephrased her question halfway through, finding the company extremely awkward. He didn't answer her, simply gave a sympathetic grin and left. Molly wasn't sure if she should be thankful or not. She looked down at the body and felt a swell of jealous rage. 'You're lucky, aren't you? You get two things I never will.' Molly thought bitterly, before she immediately felt bad. Jealousy or not, nobody deserved this.

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She had quite unsuccessfully asked Sherlock about 'The Woman', he had dodged her question by asking his own.

"You think she's my girlfriend because I'm x-raying her possessions?" It had seemed like a logical explanation to her at the time, but his remark had her feeling doubtful.

"We all do silly things." Molly explained, chuckling a bit. 'Like dressing up for a man who couldn't care less.'

"They do, don't they? Very silly." Sherlock had remarked, as if Molly had unlocked some sort of clue to this mysterious phone. He had ranted about the dead woman, and what she was trying to tell him by leaving the phone in his care. However, he had apparently been wrong, as the detective growled in frustration, before walking away. Molly was left to stand alone in the lab, feeling a bit silly herself.

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Ooh, so she DOES have a violent streak...even if she doesn't let anyone see it. :D Hope you liked this chapter. Leave me a review to let me know what you thought. Thanks! LOVE AND HUGS AND KISSES AND COOKIES! YEA, COOKIES!


	6. Chapter 6

Just a short chapter today, sorry! but not really all that sorry...because it's short, but important! Alright, down to business...

**I OWN NOTHING. THE PLOT BUNNIES ARE IN CONTROL. OBEY THE PLOT BUNNIES. DON'T FORGET THAT I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THE CHARACTERS OR PEOPLE OR PLACES OR THINGS...THE PLOT BUNNIES ARE LORD AND MASTER OF THIS...NOT ME. OBEY THE PLOT BUNNIES...**

**ahem...sorry, I mean.. ENJOY!**

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She had always seemed odd. Her nervousness around him was always throwing him. Sherlock never knew why, but he always thought there was something unique and different about Molly Hooper. Her kindness was timeless, and she at times seemed wise beyond her years. Two things, however, had surprised him recently. The meek-mannered pathologist had feelings for him. Not just adoration or loyalty as he had suspected. No, this was different. _Love_. She _loved _him, and he had never even seen it before.

He would not forget the dreadful Christmas event, in which he had torn her down so terribly. She stood there, taking his harsh deductions with a strong will. She had even put him in his place. This, too, had been a bit of a shock. However, not over surprising. She'd done it before, when he'd overstepped his boundaries. No, the other surprise had been when she thought she was alone. Sherlock had watched her on the street below, and witnessed something truly surprising. Molly Hooper had been angry. He could tell as much from her heavy breathing and balled fists. But, what she had _done_ with that anger, well, needless to say, Sherlock's suspicions were confirmed. And after the incident at Baskerville, any and all doubt had been removed. There was something unique and different about Molly Hooper. His mind sparked back to that night on the moor, he had felt _fear_. Exciting, absolutely frantic _fear_ coursing through his veins. And when he had remembered that night, watching her powerful strike, Sherlock recalled a flash, if only a flash, of that same hitch in his pulse.

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So, I know, not a long chapter...but well...Molly wasn't in The Hound episode...so...this is to compensate for that episode. :) Hope you still liked it!


	7. Chapter 7

THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR THE SUPPORT! Well, how about we celebrate the day with another chapter, yes!? Sorry the last one was so short, but I'm glad you all liked it, despite the tininess that it was. lol. I hope this makes up for it. :D

**I still do not own anything related to the actual show, books, characters, or creators. Darn.**

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She had fully prepared on going to lunch that day. Until Sherlock and John intercepted her. Molly, for all her might, had tried telling him no, 'I've got a lunch date', she had implied. However, it seemed nobody cared.

"Cancel it. You're having lunch with me." Sherlock said automatically, throwing Molly off completely. She watched as he held two bags of crisps into the air. Sadly, they were not something she could force herself to stomach until she had _actual_ food. Sherlock was mentioning one of her former boyfriends, and she caught John mention the distinct surname. 'Moriarty.'

"Uh, Jim actually wasn't even my boyfriend. We went out three times. I ended it." She announced, appearing to be proud, when all she wanted to add was 'no thanks to you'.

"Yes, and then he stole the Crown Jewels, broke into the Bank of England, and organized a prison break at Pentonville. For the sake of law and order, I suggest you avoid all future attempts at a relationship, Molly." Molly was shocked. 'Wait, he what?' she wanted to ask. Her mind then had an interesting notion. 'Did Sherlock just imply this is my fault?' With a heavy sigh, she followed the two men into the lab, ready to work.

It had been several hours into the evening, and molly could sense something was terribly off. There was something different about his scent today. Something different in his eyes. She had never seen him so determined to solve a puzzle or case so quickly. And his eyes. 'Oh my God, they look...sad? Why is he sad?' She looked at him from the corner of her eye, noting the way his fingers delicately touched the microscope he was normally so forceful with. As if he were memorizing the feel of them.

"IOU..." He muttered to himself. Molly decided she must ask.

"What did you mean 'I owe you'?" Sherlock's ear perked at her words. "You said 'I owe you', you were muttering it while you were working." She added.

"Nothing. Mental note." It was the way he had corrected himself so quickly. There was definitely something big happening, something he was trying to keep hidden from everyone. That's what had reminded her of him.

"You're a bit like my dad. He's dead. Oh, sorry." Molly had a point to this, if she could just stop stumbling over her own tongue. He was speaking, no doubt scolding her on the issue of speaking to him while he was working. 'No, I have to say this.'

"When he was dying, he was always cheerful, he was lovely. Except when he thought no one could see. I saw him once. He looked sad." She recalled the sight of her father. Old, withered. He stared out the window as if he were watching the life he knew passing by. She had remained the same, unchanged by time and the curse her blood now carried. All the while, she watched her father age, as he forgot who she was, who _he_ was, his face held that look more and more.

"Molly..." Sherlock's voice warned her of his irritation. 'No, let me say this.' She argued in her head.

"You look sad. When you think he can't see you." Molly gave a pointed look toward John. She saw his head glance up to where the doctor stood.

"Are you okay? Don't just say you are, because I know what that means, looking sad when you think no one can see you." Molly said succession of thoughts quickly, not giving the detective any time or chance to stop her. 'Let me finish this.'

"You can see me." He said, looking at her. Molly almost laughed at him.

"I don't count." She said, just as a fact. 'We both know that.' She wanted to add. She had looked away, trying to hide the flash of sadness in her own eyes.

"What I'm trying to say is that if there's anything I can do, anything you need, anything at all, you can have me." She stated proudly. 'I can help you in ways you can't _believe_.' Her cunning mind wanted her to say. She caught herself in time.

"No, I just mean...I mean...If there's anything you need. It's fine." 'Of course, how do I always manage to muck up talking to him?' Molly sighed, finally done attempting to say what was on her heart. What she was willing to provide for him.

"But...what could I need from you?" His voice sounded naive in a way, almost as if he needed her help finding the answer. However, years of verbal critique and abuse, and taking advantage of her feelings, had shielded Molly from seeing the sincerity in his voice.

"Nothing. I don't know." Molly answered in a bit of frustration. The powerful side to her slipped out once again. "But you could probably say thank you, actually." It stated with a curt nod. 'Thank you for not leaving. Thank you for letting me use you. Thank you for not devouring me.' She wasn't sure which of these she had wanted his gratitude for. The only thing she knew was the surprise she felt upon hearing him.

"Thank you." Molly suddenly felt sick. Lightheaded even. She looked at the clock to see it had been more than two days since her last _meal_. 'Shit.'

"I'm just going to go and get some crisps. Do you want anything? It's okay. I know you don't." Molly had quickly reminded herself of his odd quirk of not eating during a case. Sherlock attempted to appease her this time, however. Molly wasn't sure why, but she felt even worse at his pitied attempt to be kind.

"I know you don't." She cut him off, before walking away and out of the lab. Sherlock watched as she bolted, quickly catching sight of the unopened bag of crisps where she had been working. When she had returned just forty minutes later, her nerves had settled enough so she was positive she wouldn't be tempted. The trace taste of iron ran on her tongue. The lab was empty, and Molly sighed a bit in relief.

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The conversation had filled a secondary part of his forefront thoughts. Her calm, sweet voice echoing in the halls of his mind palace. 'I don't count.' She had said it as a simple truth. It baffled him completely, and only added to his interest in her. In a world where no one did anything without wanting something in return, he had found her. 'Selfless, sweet molly Hooper.' she had offered herself. 'You can have me.' She had said. Which, when combined with the other evidence he had, left Sherlock wondering one thing. '_Just who are you?'_ The door opened, and the light switched on.

"Too late to go on the record?"

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Molly had cleaned up the mess made by the world's only consulting detective. Normally his messes would bother her, beings as it was just one more thing he assumed was her responsibility. However, his recent uncharacteristic behavior had her more worried than a few beakers and slides strewn about her lab. With everything back in its place, and the lights off, Molly left to go to her second home.

"You're wrong, you know." The deep voice had startled her from her thoughts. 'I must be losing my touch.' She told herself, not having felt his presence in the room. Molly flipped around at an almost _too_ fast speed. She immediately saw him through the darkness, her eyes focusing on his tall form with high precision.

"You do count. You've always counted and I've always trusted you." His voice was lower than usual, and he spoke slowly, taking his time as if he were testing the words on his lips. He turned to face her now, and she could see something _raw_ about him.

"But you were right. I'm not okay." Molly quickly abandoned all the giddy thoughts she had in her mind at his words. The commanding force inside her didn't allow her to hesitate either.

"Tell me what's wrong." She ordered. It caught her by surprise when he answered immediately.

"Molly, I think I'm going to die." His voice was still so cautious. It was quiet and far more careful than he had ever sounded before. Sherlock sounded _scared_. Which only scared her.

"What do you need?" The two _normally_ opposing sides of her mind both agreed in this moment. She had offered herself wholly to him when she said 'You can have me'. That meant _all_ of her.

"If I wasn't everything that you think I am, everything that I think I am, would you still want to help me?" Molly, in that moment, had wanted to take him into her arms and give him her very essence, if it meant he would be okay. Instead she repeated her offer. 'But you _are_ everything. Don't you understand that?'

"What do you need?" He stepped in, closer to her, close enough for her to breathe in his scent. She looked up, meeting Sherlock's gaze.

"You."

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Ooh...what's going to happen next? I was originally going to post the second part of this episode's chapter representation as one whole, but I decided to split it up...just because after the next part, I have nothing written yet...and I need to work on that. So, I hope you all like this chapter, and will come back for the next one. Thanks dears, feel free to leave me a note telling me how angry you are or how much you liked it or whatnot. :D


	8. Chapter 8

So, this is the final chapter I have for this piece at the moment. I had expected it to end here, and then the parental plot bunnies that inspired this story in the first place sort of got busy again, and had a second plot baby bunny. (Seriously guys, keep it in your metaphorical bunny trousers!) Anyway, a sequel/continuation of this piece will be written eventually. Sadly, it might be for a bit, as I've moved on to other projects. At any rate, I hope you enjoy this final chapter!

**Keep in mind, I do not own characters/places/actors/creators/authors. I am simply having a bit of fun. :D**

**Enjoy**

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Everything was set in place. Molly simply waited in the lab, staring out the window. She heard a gunshot, and began to try to sense the state of her detective. He was fine, though severely stressed. The pathologist paced around, waiting. Suddenly, she saw a shadow pass by the open window, and heard the loud crunching sound that she anticipated. Soon after that, a crowd of screams rang out, and Molly moved quickly. She ran down the halls to meet the men as they wheeled her detective in on a gurney. They moved him into the morgue. Molly harshly yelled at them to leave, and bolted the door shut behind them. Molly made her way to Sherlock, who hadn't moved yet.

"It's okay, they're gone." She whispered to him. No response. Molly's brow furrowed as she nudged him. Again, nothing. She checked his breath. Gone. She checked his pulse on his neck, not his arm as they had made sure John would do. It too was absent. That's when her panic set in.

"Sherlock? Sherlock?! Come on, wake up!" She shoved his shoulder hard. He didn't answer her, just lulled back onto the slab. Molly's eyes welled up with tears, and she began beating on his chest.

"This isn't the plan, remember? Please, you have to live! You have to!" Tears fell from her eyes and onto his chest. She caught a glimpse of the pale skin on his neck, and had the instant solution. The conflict burned deep inside her, the human not wanting to comply with the creature. 'There's no other way. You know this.' It said. Molly nodded in agreement. She looked down over him, and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips.

"Please, please forgive me." She whispered to him. Then, she pushed aside the collar of his shirt, and felt for the best spot along his neck to bite. A very deep breath in and out, and then she sunk her fangs into him. He was far sweeter than she had imagined he would be. She felt his blood running cool, and she quickly pulled away at the last feeling of his life. With a quick bite to her own wrist, Molly held open Sherlock's lips in the clean hand, and flexed the bitten one against his mouth. Blood gently bubbled from her and past his lips. Molly could only sit and pray as she tried to force him to feed from her. The tears spilled just as freely as her blood, and she barely noticed him swallow the first gulp. It wasn't until his tongue flicked out and over her puncture marks that Molly was sure he was coming back. Soon, the man sat up, taking her wrist in his hands and suckling her blood. She began feeling the first sign of fatigue and dizziness at his first bite. His eyes had widened as she moaned out in pain. His magnetic gaze dropped to where his lips met her hand, covered in blood. Instead of the fearful panic she was expecting, he simply let go and looked up to her. The tense silence thickened in the air, until finally he spoke.

"Why?" Molly looked down in shame.

"Things didn't go as planned." He nodded a bit as he thought over her answer. Suddenly, Molly was caught off guard as Sherlock Holmes _laughed_. She gave him an odd look.

"I knew it. I've always known there was something _special_ about you. Something _different._ I narrowed down the potential oddities when I had seen your display of strength after the Christmas party...and again when John and I were at Baskerville. Several oddities revealed that I had thought unreal previously." Molly's jaw dropped as he spoke.

"But...how did..."

"The window." Sherlock answered stoically. He blinked, and Molly saw _that_ spark enter his eyes. She looked back at him as his gaze changed and pierced her.

"So, what happens now? What am I to do as _this_?" He said darkly. Molly felt another tear shed. She turned away from him. 'This isn't him speaking. It's the hunter inside him now.' She reminded herself.

"It was the only way, Sherlock. I couldn't let you die." With that, he turned quickly, grabbing her by the shoulders and pinning her to the wall across the room violently.

"Why? Why not just let me die? It would have been over. It would have been over regardless if I lived or died. So _why_?" He yelled in her face. Molly had switched at this point, ready to defend herself. She showed her fangs in a vicious manner, grabbing his arms just as strongly as he held hers.

"Because you said you needed me! I offered you me, and that meant _all_ of me, including _this_!" She hollered at him, before her teeth returned to normal. Sherlock could seethe fire leave her eyes, as it was replaced with the same, soft stare he knew so well. She smiled then, and he felt her grip loosen on his arms. She lifted her punctured wrist to him again.

"You'll need more soon. Just don't bleed me dry, okay?" Whatever pool of rage he had been emerged in moments ago had ebbed away. Molly saw the ferocity leave his eyes as he took hold of her wrist, and lifted it to his nose. He sniffed along her arm, before he placed his lips in front of the made holes. Molly nodded, whispering,

"You can have me."

Sherlock smiled a bit, before looking at her. She winced a bit as he bit into her again. His gaze held hers, and Molly could _hear_ him as he thought.

'Thank you.'

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Aaaand that's what I've got for now. Like I said, this is all for now. Anyway, I just wanted to say a huge thank you to all of you for reading and reviewing and following it and favoriting. I've been a bit busy with life, so sadly I've neglected in listing you all off to give you PROPER credit. But know that I am TRULY TRULY TRULY grateful for you all taking time out of your day to read my stories and even better, enjoy them. Love you all to death!...and beyond. ;)


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